Walking Disaster

crashing into the end table beside the recliner. Various items knocked to the floor.
    “Oops,” she said, giggling.
    I smiled and watched as she walked over to the couch and leaned forward over the back so her ass cheeks became visible along with the slightest trace of a thin strip of white lace.
    I unbuckled my belt and took a step. She was going to make this easy. She arched her neck and whipped her long dark hair against her back. She was hot as hell, I’d give her that. My zipper
could barely contain what was underneath.
    She turned to look at me and I leaned over, planting my lips on hers.
    “Maybe I should tell you my name?” she breathed.
    “Why?” I panted. “I kinda like this.”
    She smiled, hooked her thumbs onto each side of her panties and then pulled them down until they fell down to her ankles. Her eyes connected with mine, refreshingly wicked.
    Abby’s disapproving eyes flashed in my mind.
    “What are you waiting for?” she asked, excited and impatient.
    “Absolutely nothing,” I said, shaking my head. I tried to concentrate on her bare backside against my thighs. Having to concentrate to stay hard was definitely something new and
different, and it was all Abby’s fault.
    She turned around and yanked my shirt over my head, and then finished unzipping my jeans. Damn. I was either working at a turtle’s pace, or this woman was the female version of me. I
kicked off my boots and then stepped out of the denim, kicking it all to the side.
    One of her legs pulled up, and her knee hooked around my hip. “I’ve wanted this for a long time,” she whispered against my ear. “Since I saw you at freshman orientation
last year.”
    I ran my hand up her thigh, trying to think if I’d talked to her before. By the time my fingers reached the end of the line, they were drenched. She wasn’t kidding. A year’s
worth of mental foreplay made my job a lot easier.
    She moaned the second my fingertips touched her tender skin. She was so wet my fingers didn’t get much traction, and my balls were starting to hurt. I had only bagged two women in as many
weeks. This chick, and Janet’s friend Lucy. Oh wait. Megan made three. The morning after I met Abby. Abby. Guilt swept over me, and it had a rather negative effect on my hard on.
    “Don’t move,” I said, running in only boxers to my bedroom. I fished out a square package from my nightstand, and then jogged back to where the brunette stunner was standing,
exactly the way I’d left her. She snatched the package out of my hand, and then got on her knees. After some creativity and rather surprising tricks with her tongue, I had the green light to
put her on the couch.
    So I did. Facedown with a reach around, and she loved every minute of it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Roommates
    T HE SEXAHOLIC WAS IN THE BATHROOM, GETTING dressed and primping. She didn’t say much after we finished, and I was
thinking I was going to have to get her number and put her on the very short list of girls—like Megan—that didn’t require a relationship to have sex, and were also worth a
repeat.
    Shepley’s phone chirped. It was a kiss noise, so it must have been America. She changed her text tone on his phone, and Shepley was more than happy to comply. They were good together, but
they also made me wanna puke.
    I was sitting on the couch clicking through channels, waiting for the girl to come out so I could send her home, when I noticed that Shepley was buzzing around the apartment.
    My eyebrows pushed together. “What are you doing?”
    “You might want to pick up your shit. Mare’s coming over with Abby.”
    That got my attention. “Abby?”
    “Yeah. The boiler went out again at Morgan.”
    “So?”
    “So they’re going to be staying here for a few days.”
    I sat up. “They? As in Abby’s going to stay here? In our apartment?”
    “Yes, buttmunch. Get your mind out of Jenna Jameson’s ass and listen to what I’m saying. They will be here in ten minutes. With luggage.”
    “No fuckin’ way.”
    Shepley stopped in his tracks and looked at me from under his brow. “Get your ass up and help me, and take your trash out,” he said, pointing to the bathroom.
    “Oh, fuck,” I said, hopping to my feet.
    Shepley nodded his head, his eyes wide. “Yeah.”
    It finally hit. If it pissed America off that I had a straggler still here when she arrived with Abby, it would put Shepley in a bad spot. If Abby didn’t want to stay here because of it,
it would become